


Midnight Whispers

by Hino



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: But there's fluff in there too, Gen, It went Angst on accident and I didn't intend for this, Sans appears momentarily and so does Toriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:19:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5183408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hino/pseuds/Hino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frisk can't sleep.<br/>Tonight, neither can someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Whispers

_“Dirty Brother Killer.”_

 

Frisk took a sharp breath as they sat bolt upright, hair damp with sweat and hands softly trembling. It’d felt so real, like they’d heard the words spoken a million times before. They gripped the sheets tightly, waiting a few moments before pulling it around themselves and setting their feet onto the cold wooden floor. It creaked under them and for a second, Frisk bit their lip, waiting for Toriel or Sans to open the door and check in. Instead, there was silence. Slowly, they slid a foot forward, waited again, then repeated the motion until they’d slid over to the door.

 

It opened in silence, strangely absent of its usual creak. Maybe Sans had gotten around to fixing it. Knowing Sans’ tendency to put things off though, it was probably just pure luck that it didn’t make a sound. The hallway was dark but it didn’t deter Frisk as they slipped out into the chilled air. For some reason, the rooms were always warmer.

Shuffling towards the stairs, Frisk spared a glance towards Sans’ room, weighing up the choice. Either wake him, potentially anger him, and talk about the nightmare, or deal with it themselves.

The latter seemed a better option. 

Frisk considered talking to Toriel about it as they moved down the gently groaning stairs, but brushed the idea away. As much comfort as the surrogate mother brought them, they’d yet to open up about RESET, and Sans had kept his mouth shut about it too. Maybe there would be a time to talk about it, but it wasn’t now.

The last step screeched under Frisk’s foot and they leapt to the ground in haste, waiting for some door to open, yet it didn’t. They stood there, anticipating some movement, some speech, but only the silence of the house answered them. Letting a gentle sigh out, Frisk dragged themself away from the staircase, knowing nobody would follow. They entered the kitchen, blanket dragging behind them like a royal cloak as they grabbed a mug. It was the pink one with kittens on it, gifted by Mettaton. Frisk treasured it, always making sure to wash it with the utmost care. They had a mug from everyone, now that they thought about it. Maybe that was some monster tradition, handing out mugs and cups. Frisk held onto the thought as they opened the fridge, pulling out the milk and pouring it. 

 

“So that  was you pacing around.”

Frisk turned suddenly, knocking the mug off the bench. It dropped towards the floor and for a moment, Frisk felt their heart stop. It almost touched the wood before it seemed to freeze, drops of milk suspended in midair.

“Jeez human, you should be more careful,” the voice chided. They stepped forward and in the light, Frisk could see it was Papyrus. They let out a sigh pointed to their throat, making Papyrus laugh softly. “Sound different when I’m not shouting?” he asked as he took the hovering mug and scooped the drops of milk back into it. His right eye glowed a soft orange and Frisk stiffened momentarily, easing up as the light faded. “Trying to make milk?”

There was a nod and Papyrus gently ruffled Frisk’s hair, setting the mug back on the bench. “Can’t sleep?”

Frisk shook their head and the skeleton sighed, reaching into the tall cabinets and withdrawing a small glass. It was engraved with various little designs and swirls, something that probably had a meaning. Papyrus reached for the freezer, pulling out a few ice cubes and tossing them into the glass before reaching back into the cabinet for a bottle of bronze liquid. “I’ve seen humans do this when they don’t feel very good,” he explained as he poured it into the glass. “I hope these human traditions work.”

Nervously, Frisk took the milk and headed towards the couch, watching as Papyrus eventually followed. They sat down together, the human wrapping themselves up in their blanket while the skeleton sat without any cover. Now that Frisk looked at him, they noticed he was in a singlet and basketball shorts. He looked so strange without his battle body on.

 

“So,” Papyrus began, breaking the silence between them. “You can’t sleep, huh?”

Frisk set the mug down in their lap and began to sign, stopping when Papyrus held up a hand. “I can speak in hands, but I can’t read them,” he joked. Frisk didn’t laugh though, brows narrowing. Hadn’t the riverperson said something about speaking in hands?

“We’ll play charades,” Papyrus suggested. “You mime, and I’ll guess. I’m good at that.”

Slowly, Frisk nodded. They could work with that. They placed their hands beside their head in a sleeping motion before pretending to wake suddenly.

“You had a nightmare.”

Frisk pointed to Papyrus and held their hand out at waist height.

“About me and Sans.”

They moved to stab.

“And we died. I remember.”

 

Frisk stopped, looking over to the skeleton beside them. Papyrus raised his glass, taking a sip of the liquid. It was most likely whiskey, Frisk deduced. Asgore had bought some for himself and Sans to enjoy when talking about science, but it was free game for anyone in the house. “I remember a lot more than Sans thinks.”

Hesitantly, Frisk sipped their drink, waiting for Papyrus to speak. His face was straight, devoid of that usual spark he had. There was no slight smile, no content pose or spark in the eye. Papyrus looked old, tired, like he’d seen the end of the world and was just waiting for it to start.

It reminded Frisk of Sans.

“I was a bit late to catch on,” he began as he swirled the drink around, ice clinking against the glass. “I didn’t really notice until the twentieth loop.” There was a beat of silence, but Frisk didn’t press. They could see Papyrus taking a breath, trying to muster the words. “In the loop previous, I’d knocked over a jar of pasta sauce. It shattered all over the floor and made a mess. I meant to clean it, but you-” There was hesitation. “-You were leaving Snowdin. So, I went to stop you. Next thing I know, I’m in the kitchen, thinking about how to clean up this pasta sauce. Except...”

Frisk shook their head and pointed to the floor.

“There was no sauce on the floor. I thought it was weird. You were still going to leave town, so I scribbled a note and stuck it under Sans’ door. His room never seems to change.”

Everything seems to slot together and Frisk’s shoulders dropped, milk threatening to spill on their blanket. Papyrus gently fixed the cup before returning his attention to the bronze drink, sipping again. “I remember waking up and going to harass Sans into cleaning, when I saw the note. It took a few days for me to knock the pasta sauce over again, but that just proved it. I... I don’t remember much else...” he trailed off and drank again, getting up for another glass. Quickly, Frisk downed their milk and offered it to Papyrus, watching as he quietly moved around the kitchen, pouring their drinks without his usual flourish. He returned after a moment, handing Frisk their mug before settling back down next to them. Silence descended again, lingering until the human reached out to gently tap Papyrus’ shoulder.

“Hm?” he looked to the little one, seeing them make a talk motion with their hand. “You want me to talk, huh? Get it all out so I feel better?”

Frisk nodded.

Papyrus sighed. “Alright then...”

 

And so he spoke. The more he said, the more Frisk noticed he was like Sans. Each sentence seemed to strip away his innocence, replacing it with something dark. It reminded them of the time Sans finally confessed his knowledge of the past, of every murder that had been committed, of every restart. Right now, all that separated Papyrus and his brother was height and which end of the loop they knew the most. Papyrus only remembered before his death. Sans only remembered after it.

“I never gave up hope though,” Papyrus said as he took a mouthful of his third whiskey. Frisk said nothing about it. If they were to open up about all their nightmares the same way the skeleton beside them was, they’d probably need the drink too. “I always thought you’d come back different, and sometimes you did. There were times where you seemed upset. Hesitant. There was once or twice that you let me go. I knew you were good.”

Frisk trembled at the words, leaning into Papyrus. He slung an arm around them, pulling them close and soothing them. “I don’t blame you Frisk. Things happen in the underground. Dangerous things. Bad magic. Sans mentioned it once.”

Papyrus turned as Frisk grunted, pointing to their eye. “Yes, that is bad magic.” It glowed again to make a point. “Don’t tell Sans. He’ll get worried.”

There was a nod from Frisk as they returned their attention to the milk in their lap. Upstairs, a door creaked and Papyrus visibly deflated, sighing. Tiny fingers gripped the skeleton’s hand, giving a comforting squeeze. They stayed that way as the stairs creaked. Whoever was descending either hadn’t learned the sweet spots, or didn’t care enough.

 

“Sans!” Papyrus pressed the whiskey glass into Frisk’s lap and stood, heavy atmosphere swept away as a fake smile plastered itself on his face. “Sans, why are you awake?” he asked, placing his hands on his hips as the other dragged himself away from the staircase. “As your brother, I insist you get the right amount of sleep.”

“I’m just getting a drink,” Sans answered as he dragged himself into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of milk. Papyrus lingered as Sans stared at the beverage, truly deciding if that was what he wanted.

“Drink it,” came Papyrus’ soft voice. “It builds strong bones. It’s got Cow-cium.”

Sans looked over to him and Frisk could see the utter surprise on his face at his brother bothering to make a pun, and a good one at that. They watched as Sans’ face softened, turning away from Papyrus to grab his mug. The drink was gone in moments and Sans wrapped himself around his brother, holding tight. Gently, Papyrus soothed him, mumbling something in a language Frisk couldn’t pin. It sounded like static, like old dial-up internet, droning and whining, but meaning something. It was something familiar, but before they could attempt to pin it, the sound faded back into silence. Sans pulled back, rubbing at his eye for a moment before passing Papyrus, heading back towards the stairs.

“Don’t stay up too late,” he warned as he gripped the banister tightly. “You’ll be bone-tired in the morning.”

There was a groan of annoyance and Sans managed a laugh as he headed back up, stairs creaking under his slippers once again. Papyrus didn’t let the smile slip off his face until he heard the bedroom door close. “I think you should get to bed, Frisk.”

The slight shuffle of blankets told Papyrus that the child had gotten up. He didn’t budge as the tap turned on, or as he heard the remaining drinks be poured down the drain. If there were dishes to do, they could wait until morning.

 

Soft tugging on his shirt brought Papyrus back to reality, looking down to see Frisk stare up at him.

“Do you want me to carry you upstairs?” he asked. The child shook their head, holding their blanket cape with one hand while using the other one to simulate driving. “It’s far too late to go out, human. Do you-” He took a breath. “You want to sleep in my bed tonight.”

Frisk nodded and in the gloom of the night, Papyrus could see them mouth the word ‘ please’ .

“Alright,” came his sighed answer, scooping Frisk up like they were nothing. His eye glowed for a moment and the kitchen light flicked off, making everything dark again. With large, silent strides, they moved up the stairs. Everything seemed to move faster with Papyrus, and that was something Frisk found soothing. One moment they were at the stairs, the next, they were being lowered onto the racecar bed that Papyrus had insisted they bring from Snowdin. They softly grumbled, falling silent as the skeleton slipped into the bed beside them, getting comfortable.

“Are you alright now?” Papyrus asked as he looked to Frisk, watching them fidget with the blanket they’d brought into the bed, along with the kung-fu sheets Sans had gotten for christmas. The human wriggled closer, wrapping their arms around Papyrus and clinging to him. It made him stop for a moment, confused, before easing into the gesture and holding them close. “I’m alright.”

“G-O-O-D,” he felt them trace on his back, making him relax. Exhaustion weighed him down, opening up about his feelings and the three glasses of whiskey doing their best to make him drowsy. He felt himself fall limp, but Frisk’s hands held his shirt tightly, grounding him. It was a comfort Papyrus needed more than anything, and he found himself drifting away easier than he had in a long time.

 

Sans grinned as he looked up from his breakfast, seeing Papyrus enter the room with Frisk at their side.

“you look well rested,” he commented, turning his head to nod at Toriel. 

Papyrus smiled in response, settling down at the table opposite the other skeleton. “I SLEPT BETTER THAN I HAVE IN A LONG TIME, BROTHER!”

Frisk nodded too, signing a thanks as Toriel placed some omelettes down in front of them both.

“that’s good,” Sans answered. “you’d be pretty boned otherwise.”

The roar of annoyance that rose up from Papyrus made them all laugh, and Frisk noticed that his grin was slightly wider than it had been previously. “THIS IS WHY I HANG OUT WITH THE HUMAN,” he loudly announced, clapping a hand on Frisk’s shoulder. “THEY DON’T BETRAY ME WITH PUNS.” His grip was tight, reassuring, and it set them at ease, knowing that the talk had done him a world of good.

Frisk moved their hands, and the table turned to look, Toriel translating slowly.

“ _I could not betray you,_ ” she began, lips curling up as Frisk kept going. “ _Because it would get under your skin.”_

“FRISK!” Papyrus screeched with an enthusiasm they hadn’t heard from him in months. It made them warm inside as they watched the brothers go at it, flinging insults and breakfast at eachother.

 

Maybe there would be some time where Frisk could tell Toriel about RESET.

Maybe there’d even be a day where Papyrus could tell Sans everything too.

Until then, it’d stay hidden under whiskey and midnight whispers.


End file.
